


oh, boy

by bbyunnie



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, Modern Era, Suggestive Themes, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 09:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16637396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbyunnie/pseuds/bbyunnie
Summary: There she was. On the couch. Bare feet pulled up, tucked under knees, angled away from his direction in which he draws near. She’s wearing one of his sweaters. It looks better on her, he ponders. But really, is he surprised? Jeankuri + things you said when you were crying. Requested by tessaart.





	oh, boy

**Author's Note:**

> This is long overdue, but my love for this ship has returned. I went digging through my old blog just for the nostalgia and this ended up being the result.

“Um, Mr. Kirschstein?” voice wavers slightly upon seeing man of the hour behind desk, forefingers pushing glasses back up the bridge. “You have a visitor.”  
  
He pauses, looks up upon recognition. Phone sandwiched between cheek and shoulder, hand poised around pen. “Can it wait?” He does not appreciate the interruption, but he knows his assistant is just doing his job. He may be difficult to work with sometimes, yes, but he cannot afford the slack. Making someone sweat is just a part of his job description.  
  
When he sees a gorgeous blonde head peep out from behind the other with that perfectly arched eyebrow and glossed smirk that only grows the longer they maintain eye contact, he stops what he is doing immediately. “Send her in. Hey, I’ve got an important client coming in,” grunts into the receiver, “call you back in thirty. Alright,” hangs up. While his assistant makes his way out of his office, clipboard glued to chest, the visitor of the hour sashays inside, door closing softly behind them with a _sslt_. Honey colored hues drink in the other slowly, up a pair of pale, slender legs, covered by a body hugging skirt, flows at the knees. Up and over petite figure, long tresses partially covering bosom on both sides. The azure gaze he’s fallen for twinkles at his lingering stare, lips parting to show a set of pearly white teeth. By now he has come to a stand, walks around the expanse of his desk to meet her at the front. When he speaks, “Hey, beautiful. For what do I owe the pleasure?” his tone _entirely_ changes, gone is curt professionalism. It is replaced by something softer, a tone he only uses with _her_ , unheard by the rest of the world.

“Hey.” Historia steps into his open arms, twining hers around his neck. “I thought I’d come and surprise you.”

“Yeah?” Jean leans down as she angles her face up towards his, lips brushing together. He can’t remember the last time she’s done something like this. Their schedules usually conflict, so it is safe to say he’s... _really happy_ to see her.

“Did I come at a bad time? That call looked important.” She plays with his tie, gently tugging. Silly little things, they are. But he makes them _work_.

He shrugs. “You’re important,” states simply.

She blushes. “Stop.”

Grins. “Ah,” nuzzles, “you’re so _cute._ ” He’s stating nothing but the truth, you know. She was cute when he first saw her in homeroom at junior high, she was cute when she became head cheerleader and queen bee in high school. The only difference between now and then is the maturing in her face. Her _insanely cute_ face.

“Shut up,” Historia whines, but it is swallowed by his lips, and she hums. Digits press into jawline as she arches into him, laughs when his kisses begin to venture elsewhere - with questionable intentions. “ _Oh, boy_.” Hands slip down to broad shoulders, clings to him as he suckles skin at the juncture between her neck and shoulder. She should tell him to be careful - one slip up and she might have to explain why she bears love bites that she did not have when she entered. It is no one’s business what goes on in his office he once said, but she’d rather save the headache.

“I like this dress on you.” The statement is innocent enough, but if he’s being honest, it’ll look better on the floor. He bends at the knee and scoops her up - she squeals - pivots a one eighty to set her down on his desk.

“I like it, too.” Eyebrows scrunch downwards as gaze narrows at him suspiciously. She’ll need _something_ intact when she leaves, does she not?

He chuckles, stepping between parted thighs.

Jean _completely_ ripping off that dress and taking her right there in that office? More likely than you think.

* * *

 

“Historia?” he calls out to the apartment, shrugs out of his coat at the entrance. He gave her one of his spare keys so she could make herself comfortable until he got off work the following evening. The hustle and bustle of a big city was the only drawback, he feels. Sometimes it’s a damn nuisance. And honestly? He doesn’t see why she cannot move in with him. She’s at his place more than her own. The decision benefits her financially. It is an opportunity that is always open to her, whenever she decides - whenever she’s ready. Maybe they aren’t quite there in their relationship just yet, and that’s okay, too.

When he doesn’t here her reply back to him, he steps further, eyes searching. Is she here? He thought she... _ah._

There she was. On the couch. Bare feet pulled up, tucked under knees, angled away from his direction in which he draws near. She’s wearing one of his sweaters. It looks better on her, he ponders. But really, is he surprised?

Jean calls out to her gently - maybe it is the way she’s curled up vulnerably, maybe it is the fact that she had been in hearing distance to catch him at the doorway but consciously chose to not respond.

He stops in front of her and waits. A beat.

He detects the hesitation before she looks up at him, and now he sees why. Cheeks flushed, eyes bloodshot, nose rosy. Phone lays in open palm, arm curled around pillow.

“Historia!” he gasps, falling to his knees in front of her. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Why are you crying? Talk to me.”

“It’s stupid,” she insists, waves it off. She never likes crying. The congestion that follows is not something she looks forward to, but when she sniffs, she grimaces. She’s already there.

Jean is patient, rubbing her knee. He really hopes she is not angry with him. Has he done something wrong? “Please. There’s nothing you can say to me that’s gonna sound stupid.” Historia presses her lips together. A single tear escapes. He catches it with his thumb, leans up to do so. “C’mon,” he insists. “Move over.” Of course there’s plenty of room on the other side of the couch for him to occupy, but he chooses to be complicated. She rolls her eyes, but by the way she’s avoiding direct eye contact with him now, he can tell she’s trying not to smile. At least she isn’t angry with him. He leans back against the arm of the couch, cradling her head against his chest simultaneously. She nestles into his side, fist half-curled against his chest, head right above heart. His heartbeat soothes her, helps her breathe.

“It’s my sister,” she murmurs after a while.

Frieda. “Is she alright?” He strokes her back, her shoulder.

“She’s fine. She’s just…” Historia inhales, feels her throat tighten.

“She’s just..?”

His girlfriend peers up at him, a watery smile gracing her soft features. _“Pregnant_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to elaborate that Frieda was pregnant with Zeke's baby. The play on words in the title not only refers to Historia in the text, but Frieda is having a boy. Maybe I'll do a sequel. Who knows ~


End file.
